


Intervention

by hutchynstarsk



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Challenge fic, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:05:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somebody has to break the news to Turner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intervention

Pros fic: Intervention

 

  
Written for the challenge "lean on me" for the PROSfanfic Yahoo group.

1,040 words  
rated: G  
"humour" (supposed to be funny, anyway) ;)  
unbeta'd

 

Intervention

by Allie

  
“He’s got to be stopped.” Bodie cracked his knuckles menacingly. He stared darkly through the glass of Cowley’s office window.

“Aye, it’s gone too far.” Cowley, who was looking the same way, nodded decisively. “Something has to be done.” He and Bodie stood side by side staring out the window. Bodie stood with his arms crossed and a menacing look on his face. Cowley stood straight and dangerous-looking, his eyes narrowed.

Doyle, who had been leaning against the filing cabinet watching them sceptically, stood up and joined them.

He saw a dark-haired, youthful-looking agent outside, standing beside a car partway up the drive, holding a brown paper bag. Whether he’d been getting into or out of his car, he’d gotten sidetracked. With a look of bliss, he continued crunching peanuts, reaching into the bag repeatedly, cracking them open, and dropping the shells on the drive.

“Turner?” said Doyle, and laughed. “He’s just eating peanuts.”

“It’s like watching an elephant,” said Bodie with a shudder of disgust.

“It’s not that bad,” protested Doyle, trying hard not to laugh.

“It is so, mate.” Bodie turned an indignant look on him. “Have you ever been stuck in the car with him for hours on stakeout? He does nothing but crack peanuts and jokes. It’s disgusting, it is. The jokes aren’t even any good.”

“Oh, you’d know about that.” Doyle grinned.

Bodie cast him a look, compressing his mouth indignantly. He ignored the jibe and went back to peering out the window.

“Perhaps Macklin could train it out of him,” mused Cowley. “The department can issue a new policy—no legume-eating during working hours—and Macklin can enforce it.”

“You could just ask him to stop,” suggested Doyle.

They both turned to look at him, blinking.

“But then Macklin wouldn’t pound him,” said Bodie, looking disappointed.

Cowley gave a single nod. “You may be right, Doyle. Trust a policeman to come up with the most direct solution. Simply order him in here, and you can give him the news.”

“Hang about—”

“Yes, that’ll work.” Bodie was suddenly all cheerful smirks. “ _You_ tell him, Doyle. That’s an excellent idea, sir.” He beamed at Cowley.

Doyle scowled at the both of them. “All right, I will.” Angry steps took him from the room. He reached the doorway to the outside and leaned out. “You’re wanted in Cowley’s office.” He jerked a thumb that way.

“All right.” Turner folded up his peanut bag and followed. (On the walk there, Doyle could still hear him chewing.) “The Cow sending me out to pasture, is he?”

Doyle grimaced and didn’t answer.

Inside the room, Bodie and Cowley both watched closely, Cowley in a weighing manner, as though to judge just how well Doyle handled it, Bodie with a decided smirk. Doyle turned to Turner. “We called you here today—”

“To reveal the identity of the murderer.” Turner laughed at his own joke. He unrolled the bag of peanuts, selected one, and cracked it open.

The little red papers from the peanut drifted to the floor. Three men stared at it.

Doyle felt a wave of disgust. He swallowed, hard.

“You’re supposed to stop eating peanuts. It’s messing up the moral of...” He shot a nervous glance at Bodie, who was compressing his lips very hard but still managing to grin like a hyena. Cowley watched sceptically.

“You have to...” Doyle floundered before the confused, hurt look Turner had turned on him.

The agent’s chewing slowed, and grew mournful. Turner spoke with his mouth full. “I don’t understand what—”

Doyle grimaced. “It’s a new CI-5 rule. No legumes during working hours. And you have to go to train with Macklin,” he added desperately.

“But I don’t understand...” began Turner.

Bodie stepped forward, all grins. He clapped a hand on Turner’s shoulder. “Me neither, old son. Apparently it comes from on high, can’t be helped. If you can kick the habit, I hear Macklin will go easier on you! But Towser, now...” He shook his head ruefully. “Can’t get near him even smelling of peanuts. Ran afoul of an elephant when he was but a lad. It was a very foul elephant, and it just lived on peanuts.” Talking nonsense, Bodie steered Turner towards the door, and out. Turner cast one helpless look back at Cowley.

“That’s right, lad,” said Cowley with a nod. “No more peanuts. And you’re to train with Macklin through the end of the week.”

“But...”

“On your way, 7.1. That’s an order!”

Bodie shut the door firmly after Turner.

Doyle plopped down on the edge of Cowley’s desk and ran fingers back through his curls, frowning. “I feel rotten. That’s a dirty trick. I don’t know why I went along with it.”

“Because I didn’t think you would,” confided Bodie. “That always does it!”

Doyle glared at him. “That’s not—”

“Doyle! Off my desk,” said Cowley.

Doyle moved the offending bum, and transferred it to the arm of a chair. He leaned back against a cabinet.

Bodie grinned, and smacked a fist into a palm. “And just think, tomorrow, Macklin—pow!”

“Bodie, your glee is unseemly,” said Cowley, glaring.

Bodie went all straight and expressionless, snapping to attention. “Yes sir.” His eyes still gleamed, however.

Cowley held his disapproving expression for a moment. Then he smiled. “Ach, but it’s for his own good. Join me for a scotch, lads.”

“I’ll get the glasses.” Bodie went to get them.

“Why is it for his own good?” asked Doyle, leaning back further and more precariously. He propped one foot up against the wall, arranging himself in a rather contortionist-like pose.

“Because somebody was going to strangle him one of these days if we didn’t intervene.” Bodie, walking past, nudged the chair with one foot. The precariously balanced Doyle tumbled to the ground.

He sprang to his feet and started for Bodie, eyes flashing. Bodie smirked and hurried towards Cowley’s desk, carrying the glasses and trying (unsuccessfully) to look innocent.

“You could’ve just made a ‘no strangling people’ rule, sir,” said Doyle, his eyes still on Bodie with a dangerous expression.

Cowley nodded, acknowledging this. “Aye, laddie, but it’s hard to enforce in certain situations.”

“It certainly is,” said Doyle darkly.

“Whisky?” asked Bodie brightly.

  
<<<>>>


End file.
